chant, or a pleader, or an orator, or a maker of laws, he is laboriously serving the necessities of our earthly condition; and though a faithful man may turn any or all of these callings into a service of spiritual obedience, yet they may be, each one, and are, for the most part, all of them, fulfilled without a thought of the inner life, by the almost mechanical powers of the reason and the will. Now all this, which makes up the greatest part of the life of most men, is little better than mere contact with this perishing world. Except when incorporated with the spiritual life, it has no admixture of permanence, and, in the sense we have defined, of reality. It is a mere shadow, transient and fleeting. All the sweat of the brow, all the bold enterprises, all the skilful address, all the kindling oratory, all the science of government, and all the toil by which these were earned, and all the wealth or greatness by which they are waited on,-where are they all when a man comes to die, or when he must fall down before God to confess a sin? They are as utterly abolished as if they were all acted in a masque, or done in a former life. How strangely, how awfully external and unreal do all these things appear, when we are on our knees beneath the Eternal Eye!

And so, again, to take another instance: even that which seems above all to enter into the very

deep of our spiritual life,-I mean the cultivation of mind, refinement, the excitement of intellectual powers, the acquirement of learning and science, which things seem to us to give the distinguishing mould and cast to the characters of men,-how altogether separable are these things also from the spiritual being! They are often found in men of the unholiest passions. The railing scoffer, the most impure sensualist, the man in whom the spiritual life seems absolutely quenched, oftentimes far more largely possesses these manifold gifts of our intellectual nature than the most devoted of God's servants. They are but partial developments of his reasonable life; altogether unsanctified; in no way related to the spiritual being; earthly, and therefore but shadows of the eternal gifts of the hallowed and illuminated reason. most men of learning and self-cultivation, if they would but look keenly and truly into themselves, would be awe-struck to see how little unity there is between their intellectual and their spiritual powers; how unreal is all they are living in, and, unless taken up into the spiritual life, and thereby consecrated, how hollow and perishable is all the toil and fret of their daily labour. If any proof of this were wanting, we need only see such men in times of sorrow, or fear, or anxiety, or pain-above all, in a season of death. It seems then as if all but a

Now

tithe of their whole being were suddenly abolished: all their powers, and energies, and acquirements, are as remote and alien from their present needs, as so many broad acres, or stately houses, or costly retinues. They all alike seem splendid unrealities, which have done little more than dazzle and draw off the eyes of the inner spirit from that which alone is eternal.

And, besides this, remember that nothing of all we have and are in this world, save only our spiritual life, and that which is impressed upon it and blended with it, shall we carry into the world unseen. Even as we said of this world's entangled history, so is it of the life of each several man. Though all things shall be remembered in the judgment, and though all that he has ever done or spoken shall have left some stamp for good or ill upon his immortal spirit, yet what a putting off of this lower life shall there be at that day! "Every man's work shall be made manifest; for the day shall declare it, because it shall be revealed by fire; and the fire shall try every man's work, of what sort it is. If any man's work abide, which he hath built thereupon, he shall receive a reward. If any man's work shall be burned, he shall suffer loss; but he himself shall be saved, yet so as by fire."1 Of all the unnumbered goings on of this busy life, of

11 Cor. iii. 13, 14, 15.

all its deeds, and achievements, and possessions, how small a remainder shall be found after that fiery trial has done its work! how shall the "wood, hay, and stubble," and all the unrealities of act, and word, and thought, and self-persuasion, and empty imagination, and conventional formalities, and personal observances, be burned up; and nothing abide that searching test but the powers of our spiritual life! And of all the regenerate to whom that high gift was given, none shall pass through that piercing trial into God's kingdom but only they in whom there shall be found a will obedient to the will of God. They that have held a regenerate nature in disobedience are condemned already with the world, and must perish with the world-"for the world passeth away, and the lust thereof; but he that doeth the will of God abideth for ever."

From what has been said, let this one broad inference suffice, that the aim of our life ought to be to partake of this eternal obedience. Nothing else is worth our living for. We have been each one of us born again. Obedient or disobedient, we must be real or unreal, imperishable or perishing.

And therefore our first care must needs be, to watch against whatsoever may turn the obedience of our will away from God. Of the commission of actual sin I need say nothing; I am speaking only of those in whom the regenerate will so far prevails

as to make them, in the main, obey the will of God. The temptations which keep alive the disobedience of the will are such as these: strong desires after any aim in life, worldly foresight, long-drawn schemes of action, over-carefulness in the work of our calling, the indulgence of choosing and wishing for the future, a soft life, love of ease, and the like: now all these strengthen the action of our own will, and make us impatient of a cross. If events fall out otherwise than we desire, we grow restless and repining; or if we do not carry ourselves in open variance to the will of God, we submit with sullenness and a chafing heart. All this is because we have willed things in some other way; we have been forecasting, and taking counsel of our own wishes, and measuring things by their supposed bearing upon ourselves; and our will has become so imperious in its choice, that we forget the sovereignty of God in His own world. Now, we are all tempted to this fault by nature; and even after we have so far yielded ourselves as to obey His laws in the main tenour of our life, there lingers behind a strong root of spiritual disobedience in the heart; and we are ever exciting and stimulating it in secret. Our calling in life presents a thousand subtle provocations to awaken and sustain the independent life of our will. And this explains our bitter disappointments, immoderate griefs, irritable tempers, jealous